


Making Plans For Getting Out Of Here

by AndreaLyn



Series: Homesteaders [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 22:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12567692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: Given the gleam in Billy's eye, it's long past time for a road trip. Where better than to visit Emma, Teddy, and their children in Rose Creek, though there are a few other surprises to be discovered when they arrive.





	Making Plans For Getting Out Of Here

It’s been nearly a decade and a half since Goodnight Robicheaux last saw the town of Rose Creek looming in the distance behind him. It’s been more than that since the big battle, but in those early days, all of them had made great pains to visit frequently. Unfortunately, those habits didn’t keep up. Two years after the dust from the battle had settled, Goodnight and Billy rode out alongside Faraday, who’d been heading north to do a job. From there, they’d kept riding until they hit Canada, finding themselves a home in a quaint little cabin in Quebec and they haven’t visited since. 

It’s been a long while since they left their comfortable abode, especially given that time has somewhat aged Goodnight’s patience and willingness to tolerate long journeys, but Billy’s been getting fidgety and typically if Goodnight doesn’t tend to that irritability, something (or someone) ends up with a knife stuck in them. They could go anywhere to calm that urge, but Goodnight decides that it’s long past time to visit old friends.

Trouble is, he starts to second guess that decision just about every day as soon as they hit the open road.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Goodnight asks for the tenth time, seeing as he’s not sure he’s up for a journey this long. Neither he nor Billy have been very good about keeping up with the letters to those back home but Emma (bless her heart) keeps writing. The correspondence between Goodnight and Emma Cullen, now Emma Q, is the main reason that Rose Creek had first come to mind when this little constitutional had become apparently required. 

There are children, apparently, and Goodnight is just curious enough about what Emma and Teddy’s children look like that he’s inclined to drop into a town from the past. 

The journey itself has been a trial. Goodnight’s been in need of a cane for five years now, his hips and back never having forgiven him from the fall off the steeple seventeen years ago. Billy claims to be untouched by the years, but Goodnight can see the whites streaking into his hair that his darling love is too vain to truly acknowledge (and he isn’t allowed to say anything about it because then Billy gets cutting and vicious with the truth that Goody’s hairline is receding). Riding horses for prolonged periods is out of the question, so they’ve taken a wagon, which has drawn this journey into a longer thing than it used to be.

Billy is delighted to be on the road again, easily seen from the glow in his cheeks and the way he greets each day anew with cheer and apropos delight.

Goodnight is miserable, missing his comfortable bed and the company of his _amis_ where he can exchange words in a common colloquial tongue while sharing a drink or four.

His patience is short, his nightmares threaten to come back, and Billy is starting to get tense by virtue of proximity. They’re likely only two days out from having one of their fights when they reach the outer limits of Rose Creek, and Goodnight has never been happier to see a town than he is this one. It’s grown a great deal since the last time they’ve been here, with new farms and fields stretching out past the outskirts and a bustling center to the town with only a handful of familiar faces.

Billy takes care of hitching the wagon as Goodnight fetches his hat and silver-tipped cane, leveraging himself to the ground with only mild grimaces as he surveys this little town that he’d helped to put back together, squinting up at the church bell and the steeple from which he’d nearly died.

It may be well and fine to come back and visit, but he can’t imagine settling here. Once Billy gives him the silent signal that they’re all finished, Goodnight’s task is set before him and he takes a great thrill in sighting the very woman they’ve come to visit down the street, with the two little ones toddling behind her. 

“Ms. Cullen!” Goodnight is purposefully loud and annoying, even as Billy elbows him in the side, giving him a reproachful look. Leaning a little heavier on his cane, he swivels his direction to walk towards her, approaching the disapproving face of the woman in question, tipping his hat to her. “Or should I say, Mrs. Q.”

“Loudly, when Teddy is around,” Emma replies, allowing Goodnight to take her hand and kiss the back of it, like it’s seventeen years back and they’re all still young folks. Well, Emma had still been young when they’d first met and Goodnight had been young _er_. 

Goodnight fears that even during the first go-around, he’d been on the maturing side of things. “The town looks good,” he says, appraising it warmly as Billy joins them. “Bigger than I remember.”

“That’s what happens when you let nearly two decades pass,” Emma replies, gesturing at two children standing behind her. 

“My word, who are these angels?” Goodnight remarks, as if shocked to see their presence, rather than having made this trip specifically to see them. His play-acted over-the-top shock clearly startles and delights the children, who tug at Emma’s skirts and hide their giggles in the fabric there.

Emma proves herself far more immune to his charms, though her laugh is still tempered with disbelief and the hint of joy. “He is going to hate you being back,” is what she says, with no indication as to who that _he_ is. “This is Grace,” she says, of the eldest who appears to be nine. “And our little boy here is seven, his name’s Sam.” 

Goodnight raises his brow, seeing as it’s a mark of their fearless leader that he’s managed to inspire such affections in the townsfolk even so many years onwards. Goodnight bends to a creaky knee in order to offer his hand out to each child, delighted when they shake it. “It is a pleasure to meet the both of you,” he informs them very seriously, grimacing when his knees lock when he tries to stand. Lucky for him, Billy is soon there to help him back to his feet, a hand pressed firmly to his back. “I’m Goodnight Robicheaux and this here is my companion, Billy.”

“Still conning people out of their money?” Emma asks.

“Only when the maple syrup trade runs dry,” Billy replies evenly. It might sound like a joke, but Billy is being deadly serious. Everyone needs a hobby, after all. While he replies, his hand never drifts from Goodnight’s back, even though he’s managed to get him steady on his feet. “Where should I put our things?”

“Teddy and I were talking about that,” Emma says. “We thought maybe you’d be more comfortable up at the farm with the others.” 

Goodnight exchanges a curious look with Billy, not entirely sure what she means. Emma looks between the both of them, appearing confused.

“Wait,” she says. “Don’t tell me…”

“I am lost,” Goodnight says when she trails off. “What on earth are you talking about? What farm?”

“Did Vasquez not write to tell you that he settled in Rose Creek?”

The last time Vasquez had written to Goodnight had been eight years ago and he’d been writing to tell Goodnight about the last book he’d been reading. Nowhere in any letter had there been an indication of where he’d elected to hang his hat. Goodnight had figured the man had gone to Kansas or maybe down to Mexico, but in a way, he’s not surprised to learn that he hadn’t strayed too far. After the dust had settled from the battle, he’d stayed in the town a long while to help Faraday recover and to help rebuild; maybe he’d taken a shine to it.

The mischievous smirk on Emma’s lips is something quite terrifying and Goodnight truly fears why that smile is on her lips. He’ll soon get his chance to find out, though.

“Vasquez has plenty of space over at the farm, we thought you might prefer to stay with him.” Later, Goodnight will learn that Emma’s refusal to brief them on the full situation is, in fact, revenge on a particular Irish bastard who’d made a rude comment about young Sam’s looks, though at the time, he doesn’t know it. “I’ll draw you up some directions and let you head on over there.”

Goodnight feels terribly suspicious and looking to Billy, he’s glad to see that he’s not alone. Still, if that’s what Emma wants, then far be it for them to argue. Billy gets the wagon ready to go while Goodnight plays with the children until he’s handed a map to a place outside town that can’t be more than ten minutes of slow riding. 

“Come back to town for dinner,” Emma says. “Teddy and I will have something set up.” Her eyes gleam with mischief and Goodnight should’ve known then and there that something is afoot, but perhaps he’s slipping in his old age.

“Goody,” Billy says quietly, letting him know that they’re ready to go.

He acquiesces with his dear heart, seeing as he’s in the mood for a nap and the sooner they reach this farm of Vasquez’s, the sooner he can rest. Billy helps Goodnight back onto the wagon and sets the horses to moving, the town falling away behind them.

“Did that strike you as strange?” Goodnight asks, when they’re definitely clear of Emma’s hearing.

“Very,” Billy says flatly.

“Good, good. Here I thought maybe I was just going crazy and it was just me.”

The directions are clear and soon they’re pulling up to a well-built little house beside a barn and some tracts of farm land. There seems to be some sort of noise coming from around the side of the house, which Goodnight can tell is more than one person and that the exchange is tense. Directing Billy to stay back (or more to the point, to fetch his knives), Goodnight trades in his cane for his shotgun, knowing that Emma wouldn’t willingly send them into danger, but you can never be too careful.

He inches closer to the ruckus, hearing spurs pressed against firm surfaces, low voices, and every once in a while, a low _thump_ , like someone’s being slammed against the wall. 

“You think that’s going to work?”

Goodnight is still a few steps from rounding the corner, but he can distinctly place that voice as Joshua Faraday, all gruff growling and blustering ego. Goodnight readies the gun, worried that he's stumbled into some form of danger, and what comes next doesn’t do much to settle his unsteady heart.

“I know it’s going to work on you, _querido_ ,” and that’s Vasquez, clear as day. “You think you’re so clever, hmm? I wouldn’t try anything, you know it’s useless to fight me.”

Silence, then, and Goodnight wonders if after seventeen years, he’s returned to Rose Creek just in time to hear the murder of a too-lucky Irish bastard at the hands of a man Goodnight honestly thought would’ve murdered him _years_ ago. Still, the both are their friends (however long it’s been since they last spoke), so he hobbles around the corner, gun up, ready to fire on…

…on Vasquez, who is currently pinning Faraday’s wrists above his head to the wall behind him, canting his hips forward and kissing the man breathless, senseless, and clearly into a new state of arousal, judging by the tent in Faraday’s trousers.

Goodnight clears his throat, gun still aimed at the both of them, but clearly they’re too invested in what they’re doing, because they don’t break apart for another few moments. When they do and Faraday gets a clear look at the gun, his eyes widen and he shoves Vasquez behind his bulk to defend him from the shotgun, eyes lit up with fury. 

“Who the fuck waltzes into a man’s home brandishing a shotgun? If anything, I oughta be shooting you!” He reaches for the peacemakers that should be at his waist, but it appears that Goodnight has interrupted something that’s been going on for a while, judging by the number of undone buttons on Vasquez’s shirt, the vests and belts on the ground, and the fact that Vasquez is laughing like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen in ages.

“Is everyone alive?” comes Billy’s voice from the near distance.

“Billy, too?” Faraday is red, ducking to pick up his belt. “What the fuck do you two think you’re doing?”

“Emma sent us to stay with the both of you while we’re in town.”

Vasquez gives Faraday a faintly amused look. “I told you that what you said about Sam was going to come back and haunt you. I didn’t expect it to haunt _us_ , though, so maybe she’s still mad at me for teaching the children Spanish curses.”

Goodnight isn’t sure whose lead to take, but he errs on the side of Vasquez’s, unable to help his disbelieving laughter at what they’ve walked into. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that he’d come back to this after so long. The two of them fucking wouldn’t have been a surprise, but here they are, living together on a little homestead and necking like they’re still teenagers.

Vasquez takes his belt from Faraday’s hands to help him settle into it, murmuring soft Spanish endearments that seem to take most of the heat from Faraday’s ire and cool it down, even as Billy rounds the corner to find the two of them still in half-dress.

Billy gives Goodnight a pointed look. “I told you so.”

“Yes, you’re a genius, _mon cher_ ,” Goodnight deadpans, because he had been adamant that the two of them would never reach this sort of an arrangement, but Billy had remained convinced that this was either going to happen or had been happening for some time. “Now, why haven’t you taken the time to write about this little piece of news? I would’ve expected to hear such news from the source, but instead, you give me boring book reviews. How long have the two of you been living up here together in secret?”

“Together? Not that long,” Vasquez admits, turning to give Faraday a look that reads to Goodnight like this is still a sore subject. “Joshua was taking jobs and travelling. When he came back, he would stay, but then he would be gone almost as soon as he was back.”

“Don’t pretend that I’m still doing that,” Faraday retorts grumpily as he sets his hat back on his head. “I haven’t taken a job outside Rose Creek in two years, don’t let this Texican asshole tell you otherwise.”

“You know what happens when that word comes out,” Vasquez says pointedly, buckling his belt on – not a single gun on it, how times have changed, before leading the way towards the house.

“You can’t put me in the spare room when we’ve got guests,” is Faraday’s fiendish reply, accompanied by a smirk. He pushes away from the wall and gestures for Billy and Goodnight to follow, even though Vasquez is the one who’s leading them. 

Goodnight takes stock of the differences between this and the last time he’d seen the boys, all those years ago. Obviously, with seventeen years settling in on their bones, they’re far calmer than they used to be, but it appears that the unexpected blush of love has worked on those coarse edges as well. Goodnight tries to be a silent observer as he watches the way Faraday leans in to confer with Vasquez as they walk, his touches on Vasquez’s hand lingering (and oh, but Goodnight _sees_ those gold bands, can’t help but wonder at the story behind those), and how Faraday’s eye always lingers on Vasquez’s behind when he purposely drops a step back.

It’s a fine picture, to be sure, Goodnight doesn’t blame him for looking. 

It is still stranger than he expected, though at the same time, it’s also exactly as he might imagine. Clearing his throat to remind the boys that they’re here, he leans his cane into the dirt as they walk. “So then, this is the farm.”

“Vas built it from the ground up while I was off making a trade,” Faraday says proudly, his hand at the base of Vasquez’s neck as he offers a gentle squeeze. “So what the hell have the two of you been doing? Goodnight Robicheaux and Billy Rocks! There have to be some legends out there!”

“Name’s wrong,” Billy says, firmly.

Vasquez and Faraday exchange a confused look and Goodnight can’t help the smile he hides behind his palm. They so rarely talk about this, but when they do, Goodnight couldn’t be any prouder.

“It’s Billy R, now,” Goodnight clarifies. 

Of course, you can’t have a man like Billy go ahead and straightforwardly take your last name, especially with no family resemblance, but Billy Rocks going to Billy R isn’t that much of a change and for Goodnight, he knows what that R stands for. To strangers, it hardly matters, but to him, it means the world.

“Billy Robicheaux, huh?” Faraday seems to understand. “Not as pretentious as Goodnight Robicheaux, but then, nothing on earth could be.”

Goodnight exchanges a dubious look with Vasquez. “He knows what pretentious means?”

Vasquez snorts derisively. “I taught him _some_ new tricks.”

“Laugh all you like,” Faraday says, a sharp look turned on Vasquez, “but I know how much you like hearing those fancy words, _mi amor_.”

“See? New tricks,” Vasquez adds without missing a beat, though the interest and the approval is clear from the way that he stares heatedly at Faraday, making Goodnight feel entirely like they’re about to become witnesses to something he doesn’t feel like being a spectator for. 

“How about we’ll show ourselves to the spare room and unload the wagon?” Goodnight suggests. 

It's probably the right thing to say, given that Faraday and Vasquez seem to have forgotten that anyone else is around. Truthfully, after interrupting that little display earlier, Goodnight is genuinely surprised they’ve been gracious hosts for this long before they’ve forgotten that they have company. Goodnight rests his free hand at Billy’s neck, cupping it and sliding his fingers through his hair. 

With no convincing at all, Faraday shoves at Vasquez to get him inside, acting more like they’re still impetuous teens than the middle-aged men that they are, but if Faraday has been on the road for so long, maybe they’re just making up for lost time. 

“Were we ever like that?” Goodnight wonders, taking advantage of their sudden privacy to tap the corner of his lips, grinning when Billy takes the hint and leans in to press a kiss to the exact place that Goodnight has pointed him to.

“They missed this in their younger years,” Billy says, as sage as ever when it comes to matters of the heart, so long as someone is willing to listen to him. “Makes sense that they’re indulging now.” Heading those last few steps inside the house, they find the spare room with little difficult.

If they really only have been together for two years, then Goodnight supposes he can understand the need to lay hands on one another. When he and Billy had first started travelling together, he had been of a stubborn mind to touch Billy every possible moment he could when they were alone and often when they weren’t. He’s settled with age, but not entirely. 

This, he thinks, is proven by the fact that as soon as he settles his cane against the wall and squeezes the mattress below him, his first impulse is to use a come-hither stare on Billy, waggling his brows. “If our hosts plan to get noisy, I think we ought to provide ourselves our own entertainment until dinner, _cher_ , don’t you think?”

That upward turn of Billy’s lips is worth a thousand laughs with someone else, and as Goodnight leans back on the bed, he is more than pleased that given the noise level coming from the main bedroom, no one’s about to hypocritically tell the both of them to keep it down. Soon, Goodnight doesn’t even have the sense to spare their hosts a second thought given Billy’s attentions with his hands and his mouth, making Goodnight forget propriety all-together.

Maybe Emma knew exactly what she was doing, leading them out here into the wilderness. After all, what decent woman would want this sort of wickedness under her roof? As Billy tumbles him over his second orgasm, Goodnight thinks to himself that he might not even make it to dinner at this rate, because he is positive that he’s gone utterly boneless.

It’s near dusk when he hears the pounding on the wall from next door. Absently, he registers Faraday asking, “You two alive in there?”

“He give you a heart attack?” Vasquez asks, sniggering through the words.

“Not for lack of trying,” Goodnight promises, because he can barely feel his leg right now, which is a symptom that ought to be concerning, but given that he can feel pleasure rolling over him, he’s more than happy to allow it. Billy is currently asleep on his shoulder, content and calm. “Time to head into town?”

“Take your time,” Faraday advises. “Emma’s used to our arriving late, if we turned up on time, nothing would be ready. Relax for a while, enjoy Vas’ hospitality.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Goodnight promises, sliding his fingers through Billy’s hair, unable to believe that this beautiful sight from heaven has been his for as long as he has. It’s a miracle, truth be told, but not one he’s planning to give up anytime soon. Settling in until they’re being rushed to go, Goodnight lets his eyes fall shut and decides that if they’ve got time, there’s no better place than to take a few moment’s rest by Billy’s side.

If he’s lucky, he’ll even get to have him in his dreams, too.

* * *

They stay for another few weeks, seeing as they’ve travelled too great distance to stay for just a short visit. After the first dinner, Emma had invited them to come around whenever they liked. Vasquez and Faraday had let Goodnight hang along when they’d taken Grace out to show her how to shoot, with Goodnight offering pointers and watching how they both interacted with the children. They’ve taken their tours of Rose Creek to see the changes and in the process, Goodnight has been quietly amazed by the connection between Vasquez and Faraday, settled and calmer, yet still explosive in its fierier moments.

He suspects that he and Billy will be heading back north soon, mainly because Goodnight can see the trip back looming in the near future and it’s exhausting just thinking about it. If they don’t start up soon, he’ll stay all winter, and there’s no way he wants to be away from home that long, not when their little cabin is so warmly inviting through the first snowfalls of the year. 

Still, for a few more days, he can enjoy himself. He and Billy have spent the morning with Emma, Teddy and the children, and while the kinship is highly welcomed, the amount of time, energy, and effort it requires is not.

Afternoon is dawning and Goodnight has finished his latest novel, leaving Billy under the willow tree where he’d settled beside the man-made pond near the barn. Taking great pains not to wake the man, Goodnight struggles to his feet and begins to limp his way towards the house, aiming to get himself a glass of water. The heavy heat of the summer’s day is beating down on them, his shirt sticking to his back, and lulling Billy to such a deep slumber.

He’s not the only one who refuses to fight the drowsiness, it seems.

From one of the windows, Goodnight can see a hammock strung up outside in the back, Faraday conked out in its comfort. Chuckling to himself, his fondness appears to be shared when he hears a snort of amusement coming from the kitchen proper. Goodnight heads inside to find Vasquez digging through the cabinets, all while his gaze slides to the window where he has a clear line of sight to Faraday in the hammock.

“Those are new,” Goodnight remarks of the wire-rimmed glasses on Vasquez’s face. Clearly, a sensitive topic, judging by the way Vasquez grimaces and scowls, but Goodnight has a pair tucked away himself for when it grows too dark for him to read. “You can’t run away from everything. You might be doing a clever job escaping that bounty, but you can’t knock age off your scent.”

“Joshua insists on them, says I squint too much when I read the ledgers,” he complains, finding the bottle he’s been looking for by the look of triumph on his face. “How was your day?”

“Long,” Goodnight complains. “As much as I am fond of Emma for providing us the means to retire early, entertaining her children is too much activity in one day for an old man like me. I do so miss when Teddy stared at us with wonder and awe, rather than the way he seems to understand just how much trouble we bring, now.”

Vasquez snorts, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. He’s naturally suspicious seeing as Joshua and myself aren’t very good influences.”

“And yet, how many times was I asked whether Uncle Ale was going to visit. They call you Uncle, but not him,” Goodnight notes, gesturing outside to where Faraday is sleeping with a hand splayed on his chest. “Why’s that?”

Vasquez shrugs as Goodnight stares at how he seems to hunch a little forward. Apparently, this is a sore topic that he’s hit upon. 

“Faraday travelled fifteen years on the road, only stopping back for a few weeks at a time. Most he was ever back was just shy of two months. It was not reliable, not dependable. They always wondered if he would come back and stay.”

Goodnight raises his brow because he is absolutely sure they’re not discussing the children at this point any longer. It’s even stranger, to him, that Vasquez would settle so quickly, but given a comfortable home and decent protection, why wouldn’t a man? When he’d taken Billy away from his bounty, they had pursued an undertaking that dared anyone to haul Billy in for the bounty, but Vasquez had settled for peace and quiet.

It’s a life that suits him, it seems, judging by how calm Vasquez is. He’s filled out a touch, broader at the shoulders, only a few lines on his face and whites in his hair. Goodnight also won’t linger too long on it, but the way Vasquez looks at Faraday makes him envious for when he and Billy had first been falling properly in love, because for all that it’s been seventeen years since they met, that look on his face is the look of a man who’s just managed to get what he wants.

Vasquez lifts the bottle in his hand, then gestures outside. “I should go,” Vasquez says. “Better to get him before he falls asleep all the way. When you wake him up, then, he’s a terrible difficult asshole to deal with.”

“There are times when he’s not?” Goodnight jests, earning a chuckle from Vasquez, but little else. 

He waves the man gone and watches from the window as Vasquez brings the drinks out to Faraday, gently jostling him awake. Faraday squints upwards and makes a face before he yanks Vasquez down into the hammock with him (once the drinks are safely on the ground). Even from here, Goodnight can hear the two of them laughing like boys, exchanging endearments and soft kisses.

It’s a sweet picture, he thinks, and one he keeps in mind as he brings the water to Billy, settling back under the tree and making a space for himself on Billy’s chest, resting his cheek there and revelling in what he’s had for longer than those two idiot boys could even dream of.

“I can feel you smiling,” Billy murmurs, his breathing barely changed to warn Goodnight that he’s awake. 

“I,” he announces, with all the pomp and circumstance he feels such a thing is due, “am happy.”

“That’s not news, you’re always happy.”

“Well, _cher_ , I’ve always got you.”

There’s the faintest huff of breath that Goodnight can tell is laughter before Billy reverently strokes his fingers over Goodnight’s neck in that way that makes him shiver with pleasure, eyes falling shut. 

“Close your eyes,” Billy mumbles, barely coherent for his drowsiness. “Let’s sleep this heat away.” 

Well, that’s not something that needs to be argued, as far as Goodnight is concerned, drifting off to pleasant dreams in the hot sun of Rose Creek, with the distant sounds of good-natured bickering from Faraday and Vasquez just over the horizon. It might not be what he expected when they returned, but damn if it doesn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense.

* * *

_Dear Vasquez,_

_It was a delight to see you and Joshua again, though unexpected given that we thought we were making the trip to see Emma’s little brats alone. It’s a long trek to get from Quebec down to Rose Creek, so maybe the two of you young men will visit us rather than the other way around next time. All that said, if you do decide to grace us with your presence, do make sure not to bring any life-altering surprises with you on that occasion._

_Of course, I support your choices in life, but if there are any other grand surprises to be had, I’m not sure this old heart of mine could bear it. Visit soon, muchacho, and maybe this time, Billy and I will get to scandalize those young eyes of yours. It’s only fair, after all._

_Best of luck and don’t murder Faraday unless he really, really deserves it._

_-Goodnight and Billy R_


End file.
